


All the Dancing Lights

by 2babyturtles



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Best Friends, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Harvest Festival, Harvestfest, Hayride, Healing, Platonic Soulmates, Surda, Sweet, Varden, harvest, or not?, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: Per AlixxBlack's prompts: Inheritance Cycle; Hayrides.





	All the Dancing Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Per AlixxBlack's prompts: Inheritance Cycle; Hayrides.

Holding hands is…weird. _Not_ holding hands when everyone else has been is somehow even weirder. Eragon tries not to look at the woman sitting beside him. With her dark hair pinned into delicate braids and elegant orange dress draping off her shoulders, Nasuada is the image of beauty tonight. It’s been a long time since Arya crossed his mind and he thinks he might even be able to enjoy a somewhat romantic night with…the leader of the Varden? The future queen of Alagäesia? The endangered ruler of the free world? His liege lord? He sighs and rubs his hand together, trying not to wonder how the ridges in his palm might feel against her skin.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Nasuada is all smiles. “It’s a beautiful night,” she murmurs, just barely above a whisper. Her golden eyes peer out the slats of the cart that pulls them through the makeshift streets of the Varden’s camp in Surda. “I’m glad you had this idea. It’s been too long since the people had much to celebrate and the harvests are always a wondrous time. And hayrides? This is magical!” She laughs galefully as she turns her eyes to the seats of the cart—large bales of hay with soft warm blankets.

Eragon smiles and allows himself to meet her eyes, grateful that his distinctly foreign appearance and months of training grant him a more graceful posture than he might have assumed even a year ago. “We used to have them every year in Carvahall,” he explains. “Roran and I would go together until he met Katrina, and it’s been all about her ever since.”

Frowning sweetly, Nasuada cocks her head at him. “You haven’t gone since?”

“I have,” he corrects quickly. “But my only company was a warm slice of pie.” The joke falls flat but Nasuada laughs anyway and Eragon finds himself grinning at the sound of it.

Their conversation fades as the cart leads them away from the hubbub of the central encampment and into the nearby woods. At first, it looks almost as if hundreds of fairies have taken residence in the low hanging branches. As they get closer, though, it becomes clear that there’s only lights. Hundreds of shining lights, undoubtedly the work of the Du Vrangr Gata and elvish spellweavers.

A delighted smile jumps across her face as she peers at a world that suddenly doesn’t seem so stressful and Eragon is glad he had the foresight to request they rode together alone. No pressure, no roles, just Eragon and Nasuada and all the dancing lights. Smirking impishly, Eragon murmurs something under his breath and keeps his eyes on Nasuada’s expression as eruptions of harmless flames go off around them. He thinks the driver of the cart smiles, but his attention is fixed on his companion and he pays him little heed.

Slowly, and somehow very naturally, Eragon finds his arm around Nasuada’s shoulders. It isn’t quite the romantic gesture he’s been witnessing all night, but the sort of loving touch of a burning ember. The war suddenly seems very far away and Nasuada leans her head against Eragon’s shoulder, deciding that she likes hayrides very very much.


End file.
